


All the Stars Bend Over Sideways

by prosopopeya



Category: bare: A Pop Opera - Hartmere/Intrabartolo
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Angst, Boarding School, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sexual Identity, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosopopeya/pseuds/prosopopeya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts when Peter walks in on Jason in a <i>private</i> moment and then it becomes something they aren't sure they should embrace or escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to [msmoocow](http://msmoocow.livejournal.com) for being an awesome beta, and thanks to [meemsers](http://meemsers.livejournal.com). The title comes from [one of my favorite songs ever](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FKFJ9ZMU7g8).

****

All the Stars Bend Over Sideways

 _Part One_

The start of summer is a fresh taste in the air, full of dripping popsicles and stale chlorine, and it's hard enough for Jason to focus in class with all this sunshine outside. He sits on his bed, curtains pulled away from his window and the tops of trees tickling the glass in the midafternoon breeze. This is a situation he's been finding himself in more and more often, uncomfortable and strange but enticing; he can't help the itch, the twitching in his fingers to do something about it.

This kind of problem—not the kind that doesn't come for no reason in the middle of class and he has to hide with a book, but the kind that _does_ have a reason—is the worst. Because he wants to make it go away. He straightens his back, lets it slump again, running his fingers nervously over his thigh through his pants. The leaves laugh at him through the glass as the wind rolls through the branches, and he turns to glare at them over his shoulder before his eyes go back to the wall.

Okay. Another deep breath and he goes for it, shutting off his brain and following the heated thread of curiosity and need that sends his hand to his zipper and after that— _inside_ his pants, to the source of the problem. He's playing with fire in his hand and God does it feel good, even if he can think of a handful of moments in his health classes that tell him he's going to hell for this. He decides that this might be worth it.

He doesn't hear the key in the door, but he hears the knob rattle because it's old and its screws need replacing. He might have made it, might have been able to play everything off had he not panicked for a second too long, and in his hurry to right himself he pinches the skin of his finger in his zipper, making him cry out more from surprise and embarrassment than pain.

Peter gives Jason a look as he shuts the door behind him, watching as he walks over to his bed and drops his books on it. Jason can feel the guilt slowly creeping over him, and he wonders if it's something like science class, like he's turning pink because you added a catalyst to him.

"Jason? What are you doing?"

He doesn't hear the hesitantly breathless question in Peter's voice, just the frantic noises of his own mind as it tries to find something to say but instead mostly comes up with things he isn't allowed to say in front of a nun.

"Um—I was just—nothing."

Maybe if he had said that while looking at Peter, not staring down at his feet and attempting to covertly rub at the pad of his thumb it would have worked. Peter tilts his head and inches closer, his footsteps small and unsure. It's a shame Jason can't see the dangerous curiosity forming in his eyes; it would have looked much like his own a few minutes ago.

"Did you hurt yourself? I thought I heard you say something when I came in…"

"No," Jason answers quickly before Peter finishes, and he turns his head away, though he can't keep his eyes from darting back to look at Peter, fleetingly. He knows he's lost this; he just isn't sure where he's supposed to go from here.

"But your hand—?" Peter sits down on the foot of Jason's bed, not too close but not far enough away, and Jason shrugs, holding his hand up for Peter to see.

"It's fine. I—forgot I had a paper cut there and I just scratched it." That lie is quick and easy and might work if there had been a visible wound there, and if Peter didn't already know, hasn't already known nearly from the moment he came in the room.

"Were you—I mean—was it—? Were you… busy?" It's a little comforting to hear that Peter doesn't know how to ask it even if Jason can hear his own embarrassment singing in his ears.

"I… yeah," he says softly, almost a whisper, and he shrugs his shoulders as he drops his head. This is the first time they've had a moment like this; this is even still kind of new for Jason, this whole exploration thing, and it might be his last if his heart doesn't stop pounding in his chest and if all the blood swirling to his face doesn't choke off his throat.

"Oh…" Peter exhales, turning his head away now too as if saying it out loud suddenly swept away whatever brazenness his curiosity lent him. "I could… leave again, if you want…"

Jason shakes his head, biting his lip now as he crosses his legs in front of him, keeping his arms on his lap now to hide the cause of his actions. "No. Uh, thanks, though," he adds hastily, glancing quickly to his side to see Peter give a terse nod.

There's a silence pregnant with the desire to say something but it’s so thick that it chokes both boys, keeps their voices tied tightly in their throats. Peter brings his hands to his lap; even Jason can see his attempts to hide the evidence of his own reaction to this conversation. He isn't sure what to make of that, of Peter's arousal over the whole situation, but hey—Jason gets them at weird times, doesn't he? Math class, during confession, in his sleep, and sometimes, sometimes when he can hear Peter stir in his sleep, quiet murmurs in the night that send shivers through Jason.

"Do you," Peter starts quietly, talking to his fingertips, "do that a lot?" Jason can hear there's more interest in learning for the sake of research in Peter's voice, which lets him answer truthfully, giving his shoulders a small twitch.

"Not… really? I mean—only a few times. Mostly they show up during class and go away, you know. Or I just do homework."

Peter nods as Jason's talking, and he sneaks a glance up to Peter's face, which is as red as Jason's ears feel. He starts to answer but has to stop because his voice feels too weak at first, too fragile, and it isn’t allowed to crack right now. He clears his throat and tries again, more successfully this time.

"What about _you_?" His tone implies the question is only fair.

Peter makes a soft noise of surprise and his hand clenches his thigh. "Oh—yeah, me too. Only a few times." His nodding is quick and heavy as if by doing it he can nod out all the times he has—ever since last summer and _Top Gun_.

This is almost becoming a normal conversation, and Jason decides to take it that way, smiling a little and shrugging again, the official gesture of his whole conversation. Its official color is a bright mortified red. "It's hard, you know, living here. Not a lot of time to yourself." This is accompanied with a small, breathless laugh that doesn't really find anything funny.

"Yeah." Peter gives Jason's mirthless laugh a friend and he inclines his head toward Jason, even if he doesn't look at him. "Yeah, it's hard—you never know when someone will walk in…" The last part is added quickly, like Peter is proud of his ability to pull a joke out, and Jason rewards him with a tight, nervous laugh, his ears returning to a brilliant heat.

"Exactly," Jason agrees, giving him a flash of a smile and more than three seconds worth of a direct look. He can feel the silence starting to crawl between them and keep their mouths silent, their conversation stalled, so he says the first thing that comes to mind, the thing that he's been thinking about since he noticed it. "You look like you could use a couple minutes to yourself now, too."

Peter looks sharply up at Jason and back at his lap, shifting as he tries to cover it better with his arms for a few seconds before he gives up with a strangled sound of a laugh that's drowning. "Yeah. I guess all that talking about it…"

"Made it get jealous?" Jason's attempt at a joke works slightly better than Peter's and for a moment there's something similar to a genuine laugh, both of them smiling and nodding and making breathy noises resembling humor.

Silence comes back sniffing at the feet of their conversation again and Jason lets it take over this time, chewing his lip as he stares at the floor and thinks about the fact that they're both sitting here with hard-ons and they're on his bed and how strange is it that they're having a conversation about their—well, their dicks? "Know what's weird?" he asks after a moment or two.

"No. What?" Peter's answer is small and bewildered; it sounds as if it thinks Jason's reply could be anything and everything and mostly things that it doesn't really want to hear about. It sounds scared.

"It's kind of weird how we're just sitting here... hard and having a conversation about it. Like there's nothing weird about it." This idea is snaking around in Jason's head and it's stirring up thoughts from vaults that Jason had locked and thrown away the key to; they rattle at the combinations, turning dials, and ideas are slowly sneaking out between the cracks.

"I know." There's hesitation, shyness, and Peter continues. "But—kind of cool, in a way? That we can talk about it and not have it be weird. I like that we can talk about anything." He glances sideways up at Jason with a tiny smile, turned up at the corners, and Jason's blush returns to his cheeks.

"Yeah, me too." He smiles back, hand twitching to reach out and touch Peter; after a mental argument he does, brushing his fingertips along the top of Peter's arm and squeezing his shoulder before he drops his hand, letting it fall onto his thigh. He stares at his palm, watching his fingers move gently back and forth.

Silence returns to curl itself around their feet but Jason doesn't really pay attention to it this time because he's too busy remembering things, mostly movies he saw over the summer, things he caught when Nadia wasn't around. Movies about adolescence, about kids growing up, about all the painfully awkward moments that mean something in a person's life, and he can't help but feel like he's in one now. His mind is churning with all the ways he could get out of this, could make this into something like an experience, and he draws a slow breath.

"Peter… ?" he starts, dragging his eyes from the floor to Peter's shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"What if—what if we did it togeth—at the same time, I mean?" he quickly amends because the idea of doing it together brings him other images, images from dreams and from half-remembered dozings in the middle of the day that he doesn't really want to get into. Those are the things they hear about in classes, about sin and damnation. The nuns wouldn't go on and on about those feelings for other boys like that if it wasn't something everyone dealt with, right? So he can just choose to ignore his, just like everyone else does.

"Together…?" Peter repeats, eyes wide as he slowly turns them onto Jason's face. He tries to read it, to see what Peter might be thinking, but beyond wide-eyed surprise and apprehension and lust leftover from his hard-on, Jason isn't sure what he sees.

"Yeah… If you want to, I mean. If it's something you'd want to do. We could sit with our backs to each other, so we wouldn't see each other. You know." He looks away, shifting his position on the bed, sitting up a little straighter before he lets his back slump again.

"No—no, that makes sense," Peter responds slowly, his words having a hard time reaching Jason's ears through the thick air of the room. "That way we wouldn't have to worry about someone coming in the whole time, or how much time we have… because we'd already know." His voice is light and hushed, hesitant and disbelieving.

"Right," Jason nods, daring to look back at Peter, but this time he's the one staring at the floor. "Would that be okay with you…?"

He doesn't answer right away. He keeps staring at the floor, at the worn down carpet of their room, at the scuff on the toe of his left shoe, at the mental image of the two of them, backs to each other on a bed and doing something that should be very, very private. Finally he raises his head and meets Jason's gaze, looking small. "Yeah."

His heart is pounding and his breath is picking up, his body stirring and begging for Jason to do something about what it wants already, and his voice hitches, nearly cracks, when he tries to talk again. "Would you want to now? Since we're both…" He trails off; he doesn't need to finish the sentence.

Peter inhales sharply but nods, silent, and when he doesn't move, Jason takes it as his cue to get this new arrangement started. He turns, swiveling his legs around, and scoots to the other edge of the bed, his back to Peter's.

"Okay…" He undoes his pants again and frees himself from their constraints; he can barely hear Peter making a noise and he feels his senses come alive. Everything in the room seems sharper, the colors more vivid and their edges so clear that they start to blur into each other, his eyes unable to handle such a sharp contrast. He can smell everything from Peter's shampoo to the detergent of his bedspread, and when he leans back on his hand for balance, his comforter drags its nails over his palm.

He can hear Peter's zipper too; he doesn't know where he got this idea from, why or how it seemed like a good idea when he has a hard enough time sometimes keeping Peter out of his thoughts during moments like these, but any part of his brain that's trying to form a protest is being squashed. Jason feels compelled in the humid air of the room, feels like he's on a set track and this is the path he has to follow. There's something thrilling about it, a feeling of being alive and feeling something with someone else, no matter who it is.

When he doesn't hear anything else from Peter's side, he starts up again himself with a slow, loose rhythm, testing things out, seeing how his body reacts. He can hear Peter gasp again, can almost hear his fingers twist in the sheets when he starts up his hand too.

They've barely even started but already every motion makes his blood that much warmer. Every little brush of skin or air or smell or sound against is skin is felt all through his body; his skin is tingling in the way that's half good and half bad, just enough to leave him panting with the question of it all.

Even though his hand is moving, he isn't sure what's causing the goosebumps prickling along his skin, what's making his hair stand on end or the first few drops of sweat start their gentle way down his back. It could be the physical contact or the sound of skin on skin behind him, of Peter's breath hitching in his chest, or maybe it's knowing—knowing Peter is behind him doing this at the same time and maybe he's listening as hard as Jason is.

He can feel Peter's breath against his skin, which doesn't make sense because Peter's mouth is all the way across the bed, facing away from Jason, but it mingles with the air and is pulled like a magnet to the back of Jason's neck, where it slides around to his throat, tickles his collarbone, and pulls its grip tightly around him. He's choking, struggling to breathe in the thick air with Peter's shudders and Jason's shudders making the bed shake gently beneath him. They're not touching but that doesn't matter because somehow this is still all about the two of them, together, moving and breathing and running to catch something elusive only to release it and watch it go spiraling away from their hands, letting them fall back into a quiet, satisfied peace.

When it's over Jason is caught between wanting it to go on and being glad it's over; he's breathing hard, his skin too warm and his shirt clinging to him, and he's tired—exhausted from breathing and moving and listening. It could've been an eternity that they spent there, moving in time with each other, or it could've been a few seconds, not nearly as long as it should have been.

Peter finishes first; Jason can hear the shift in the air, the change in his breathing, can almost hear his hand grab the fabric and then there's a soft cry that's bitten off quickly. That's the push Jason needs and then he's tipped over his edge, knuckles turning white as he grips the bed, his head falling forward and his breath coming harsh and uneven.

They sit there like that, still holding onto the bed, still holding onto a few moments before when it didn't matter if things made sense or didn't make sense because they just slid into a place where understanding wasn't allowed. There's a stillness in the room, the leftover sweat of their labored breath hanging about them and cooling off in their awkwardness.

Jason makes the first move, after he clears his throat, half because he needs to clean his hand off before it starts to dry and half because he knows someone has to make the first move. He leans over to his nightstand, pulls open the drawer, and finds the pack of tissues torn open inside. Taking one for himself, he cleans up, ears burning now with his effort _not_ to listen to Peter. Now that the moment is passed it feels strange and intrusive; the need to understand is back and he can't just rely on his feelings anymore.

The question of _now what?_ is buzzing around Jason's head and he just wants it to shut up, so he gets up, shuffling to the trashcan and tossing his tissue in. He keeps his head low, eyes off Peter, and takes another tissue from the pack. It's time then to cross to the other side of the bed, to Peter, to the unspoken feelings leftover from what they just did that are sitting in crumpled balls around Peter's feet.

"Want one?" Jason asks airily, voice calm though forced, and he's talking to the floor instead of Peter's face.

Peter reaches up after he makes a noise that's an attempt to talk, and Jason turns around and sits at his desk, booting his computer up with his back to Peter.

They don't say anything else to each other until dinner time.

Jason is still at the computer, knee bouncing as he pokes through Wikipedia, 20 pages away from what he should be looking up, and Peter is on his bed, lying on his stomach. They hear the sound of feet in the hallway, a group heading toward the dining hall, and Peter looks up from his book.

"Are you hungry?"

The sound of a human voice in this room after so much silence is startling; Jason isn't sure his voice is going to be able to do what Peter's just did, but when he turns around he finds himself able to make sound after all. "Not really, but I'll go with you if you are."

Peter wrinkles his nose and looks back at his book, picking at the corner of the page. "I was thinking we could have some of those cookies my grandma sent."

With a grin Jason nods and turns back to his screen, running a hand over his neck. "My kind of meal."

There's silence again, and in it Jason can feel the mood shifting again, turning from the comfortable awkward silence to a more insistent question, and Jason's actually drawing a deep breath to steal himself against it when Peter speaks again.

"So—that was… intense." He sounds hesitant, afraid to bring it up, and Jason doesn't have to turn around to see him biting his lip, picking at the book again, carefully looking up at Jason to watch his reaction.

"Yeah," he replies first, nonchalantly, clicking onto another page. "A bit more than I thought it would be." He's reluctant to share anything more than that, either with himself or with Peter.

Peter wanted more than that, Jason can tell in his faltering. Instead of waiting for Jason to provide it, Peter seeks it out. "But—but I liked it." Then more quickly, he adds, "I mean—it was fun, and it'll be better than—than trying to wait for when one of us is out of the room…" He trails off, waiting for Jason to pick up the trail.

"Yeah, totally." He turns around now, hanging his arm over the back of the chair. Peter's just as he thought he would be, on his stomach, the page of the book between his fingers, one leg dangling off the side of the bed and the corner of his mouth between his teeth. Jason smiles, and it starts out shy but he turns it into confident.

It's okay for him to give into this now because Peter's given him the green light; it doesn't make Jason seem strange or weird or too excited by the idea. "I'm up for doing it again, if you are." He can see Peter's relief in his nod, in the curve of his smile, and he ducks his head, going back to his book.

"Yeah, sure," he replies, though Peter isn't very good at feigning coolness; his contentment is obvious and leaves Jason laughing softly as he turns around.

It's easier to laugh softly at this whole thing between them than it is to worry about it, to pick over every single movement of Peter's body, every twitch of his smile, and try to find out what it means, why it makes Jason's stomach flutter when he lets his guard down for a moment. All of this doesn't mean anything; every boy jerks off, and what they're doing isn't anything very different from that.


	2. Chapter 2

It's a Thursday night—the last Thursday night before exam week—and neither of them has too many pressing projects to do. Jason is at his computer, Peter flipping through a Tom Cruise calendar, and the night is shaping up to have that familiar feeling, not unlike a fire snapping in a fireplace. There's heat building, slowly, warming up their bodies, and Jason keeps glancing over his shoulder. He wants to ask, but even though this is something they've made into a habit now, it's hard to actually ask in words.

Finally he catches Peter eye and Peter blushes slightly, raising his eyebrow at Jason. Jason raises his in return with a grin, how they've come to ask and answer _do you want to?_ though sometimes who is asking and who is answering isn't always clear.

They're both up then, heading toward Jason's bed because that's just become the unspoken destination; the tissues are kept in his nightstand drawer now, even though Jason knows Peter must do this by himself sometimes. Still, the only tissues are kept on Jason's side of the room and there's something unifying about that that Jason finds comforting. It's not a subject he wants to touch often.

They flop comfortably on Jason's bed, still not talking, their backs to each other, but it's so much different from that first time—at least in the beginning. There are smiles and some laughter before they settle into it, unspoken amusement. Jason's smile doesn't fade from his face until his energy is focused elsewhere, his muscles going slack, and he leans back on one hand, tilting his head back.

The sound of Peter's breathing is familiar now; it chokes him still but Jason welcomes it, now that he knows it's coming; he breathes it in, the sounds and the motion of the bed and the presence of Peter. He should probably think about something else, about porn, about girls, but aren't guys supposed to be sensory creatures? They can't just dream up porn—so he goes with his senses. This is what he's feeling, breathing, experiencing—so there's nothing wrong with that.

Peter's more comfortable too, it seems, at least as far as Jason can tell. He gets more vocal; the first time he moaned, Peter shut it off quickly, but after that he's been less hesitant, though everything is still hushed, in whispers. It's easy to shut his eyes and just take it all in, the hitches of Peter's breath and the soft sounds, when they come.

Tonight is nothing different, nothing strange; Peter's moans are gentle, more like little gasps, and Jason leans back, pushing his legs out in front of him, relaxing into the motion of everything, when he feels something warm, soft—skin—on his hand. He glances back quickly to see Peter's hand brushing his on the bed, and he can hear that Peter's slowed to a stop behind him, just as Jason's hand has stilled.

He shuts his eyes quickly and turns back around, breathing sharply now and trying to figure out where to go from here. He could pull away, pretend like it didn't happen, go on like normal—if you can call this normal, what they're doing, oh _God_ what has he started? He could stop, pull away, zip his pants up, run to the bathroom, run to chapel, run to the chilled over night air of a summer in New England.

Or he could stay. He could stay still, leave his hand touching Peter's, settle back into a rhythm. He could do that.

While he's trying to decide he feels Peter's hand slide over his, not really holding onto Jason's hand but covering it; it doesn't do much but it does confirm that this happened, this is real, and there's hesitation here. This is as much of a crossroad as it is for Peter and Jason isn't sure what he thinks about that. He isn't sure he wants to think about this at all.

So that's what he does. He doesn't think about it, pushes it all aside, shuts his eyes tighter, and finds a rhythm again. His jaw clenches when a few seconds later he hears Peter start up again, his moans following quietly afterward. Jason stays silent, aside from his labored breathing, his head not tilting back anymore, his legs pulled back against the bed.

This still doesn't mean anything; he and Peter touch each other all the time—hugs and shoulder squeezes and hair ruffling. If the touching doesn't mean anything, and the jerking off together doesn't mean anything—well, two nothings don't make something, do they? He tries to console himself with this even if now, in the moment, he feels that it's mostly a lie. He isn't interested in the truth though; the lie is all that matters right now.

He pretends like he doesn't notice how Peter's grip tightens on his hand as his breathing gets heavier; he pretends like he doesn't notice his hand gripping tighter to Peter's, pretends like when Peter comes finally, with a long and hushed moan, he doesn't cling to Jason's hand so hard he leaves nail marks in Jason's palm. He pretends like none of that is what ultimately pushes him over the edge, before Peter's nails have a chance to pry themselves from his skin.

There's a few moments for the both of them to catch their breath, their hands still stuck together between them on the bed, neither of them speaking or doing anything about moving them. This is all part of the ritual, the routine; they sit still in silence until Jason moves to get the tissues, hands one to Peter, and they wordlessly go back to what they were doing before they wordlessly started.

That isn't going to change this time, Jason decides, so when Peter tries to hold onto Jason's hand when he starts to pull away, he just tugs his hand free and opens his nightstand drawer. He crosses around to the other side of the bed, Peter's tissue between the fingers of his outstretched hand, and he doesn't look as Peter takes it from him. He turns around and goes back to his computer before Peter has a chance to say anything.

There's silence again until Peter asks, quietly, if Jason's going to bed soon because Peter's tired.

"Oh." He glances at the clock on the computer screen and stretches his arms over his head, sinking down in his seat. "Yeah, sure. Why not?" He flips his monitor off and stands, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off on the way back to his bed and trying not to wonder if Peter is watching.

"We—we should start packing this weekend." Peter's voice is tentative and Jason glances over to see him pulling his vest off, tugging at his tie.

"And studying for the history final," Jason adds and decides at the last second to turn away from Peter, unbuttoning his pants with his back to him. It's more comfortable that way, without Peter's eyes staring—but why would he want to stare?

"Oh. Yeah, that." Peter's reply is heavy, full of sighs, and Jason chuckles, glancing over his shoulder as he pushes his pants down. There's Peter, shirtless, a sight he's seen countless times, and working on his own pants, facing Jason. Jason isn't watching—he's just thinking of what to say next before he turns around.

"We'll cram together." He picks his pants up and folds them, setting them in his drawer.

"Thanks." He can hear Peter pushing his sheets back, and when he turns around, Peter's already sliding into bed. "You don't have to help me, though."

"It's not just helping you. Studying with you helps me remember things too," Jason reassures, flicking out the overhead light before he slides into bed. Peter's still watching him, a face lit by the glow of a nightstand lamp. Jason's face is warmed by the shine of his own lamp and Peter's small smile, which Jason returns.

"Jason…"

The air is trying to be serious but the time isn't right. Jason doesn't know what the moment isn't ready for but he knows that this is wrong; the bulb still has some time left to germinate in the air between them before it's ready to bloom.

"I'll miss you over the summer."

"I'll miss you too," Jason responds easily, with a little laugh. "I miss you every summer."

"No—I mean—" He breaks off and tries to look at Jason, squinting his eyes at him in the dark room, before he shakes his head again and pulls a hand over his face. "I'll just miss you a lot this year." There's seriousness in his face, a touch of sadness, and Jason doesn't like that he feels the exact same way that Peter's eyes look.

"I'll miss you too." This time his voice is softer, a bit rougher with the weight of emotion he rarely lets loose.

This satisfies Peter more than the first one. His smile is sweet, small, soothing in the dim room. "Goodnight, Jason."

"‘Night, Peter."

Peter turns his light out first and turns on his side. Jason reaches up to switch his lamp off, but when he settles down to sleep, his eyes stay open on the huddled shadow of Peter's form in the darkness until he drifts into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The last day before summer finds them lying at opposite angles on Peter's bed, Jason lying across the foot of the bed and Peter stretched out normally, holding his sheets across his stomach. Their bags are mostly packed, ready to leave in the morning, shapes in the semidarkness there to remind them of the months ahead.

It's silent but Jason doesn't really mind that all that much. He lets his eyes close and drifts for a few moments, soaking in as much as he can of this easy companionship between them. They haven't done anything together since last Thursday—exams are extraordinarily unsexy, but really it's the idea of leaving each other for a few months that steals the fun—but Jason doesn't mind. He likes this just as much, just being together.

"Do you have any plans?" Peter asks after a long stretch of silence, and Jason swims back through his thoughts and opens his eyes, staring up at their ceiling.

"Not really. Sit around in my house in my underwear as much as I can. Avoid my parents. The usual." He turns his head and looks up at Peter, finding his gaze already resting on Jason. "What about you? Think you'll see your dad?"

Peter shrugs and shakes his head, flicking his eyes away. "I don't know. I'll probably wind up helping my grandma around her house. She likes it when I read to her."

"And you like it when she teaches you how to cook." Jason grins as Peter blushes and Jason reaches over to playfully push at Peter's legs. He rolls onto his side and props his head up, the both of them grinning now.

"Maybe," Peter relents, his grin still wide.

The silence falls between them again and Jason flops back onto his back after a few moments, throwing his arm over his eyes and letting them shut again. He feels Peter shift on the bed, feels him get closer, but doesn't look until Peter talks.

"It's been a weird year, huh?"

Jason pulls his arm away, dropping it over his head, and looks over to find Peter sitting Indian style, arms pressing into his thighs as he stares down at his lap. "What do you mean?"

Peter's cheeks are red and he's playing with the sheet in his hands. "For us, I mean. Maybe weird isn't the right word," he adds, sounding discontent, confused, unsure.

"Yeah, I wouldn't call it weird." Jason pulls himself up, sitting Indian style in front of Peter, and he finds Peter looking up at him, curiously, questioningly, something small and shy hidden in his eyes.

"What would you call it?" He sounds scared, and Jason's starting to feel a little scared himself, not sure he wants to go down the path where this is leading. It's fine when they don't put names to things.

"Well—not weird. Did you not like it…? Do you think it's weird?" He stops himself before _Is there something you're not telling me?_ That’s a question he won’t even dare to ask himself.

"No—no," Peter answers quickly, shaking his head. "Weird was the wrong word. Maybe different? Just—just different. New." He nods, seeming more satisfied with these, though he keeps one eyebrow raised, a question for Jason—is he right?

"Definitely different," Jason agrees with a soft laugh that Peter parrots. "Not weird. I like it, though. I mean… I know it doesn't really mean anything, but I…" He trails off, wading into territory he isn't allowed to enter.

Peter's expression is eager and Jason wishes he hadn't started to say anything; he should've left it with the fact that he likes it. That's revealing enough. "But what?" The tone Peter uses lets Jason know there's no way out of this. When Peter sounds like an insistent puppy he keeps chewing until he gets what he wants.

"Just… I don't know," he lies, "but it's fun." That's a bit of a lame lie but still true in its own way. Peter is dissatisfied and he nods, dropping his head.

"It is fun," he agrees quietly, tugging at a loose string near the hem of his sheets. Jason watches him adjust to his disappointment and struggles with himself, with the real answer to the question, and it's painful when he lets it go, like pulling a sword from his throat and his hand slips.

"I… I feel closer to you, or something, I don't know." He lets the words out quickly, afraid if he lingers too long in saying them that emotion would leak out, but it doesn't matter. Peter's eyes open wide and he tilts his head up slowly, carefully watching Jason's face.

"I feel closer to you too," he breathes.

Something's shifted; something about the air has changed from summer plans to whatever this bond is between them, and Jason doesn't want to really identify the source. He'd rather go with the symptoms and treat those, a slight constriction in his pants from the breathless sound of Peter's voice and from the color his eyes are turning, the color of subtle hunger.

"Want to—one last time? Before summer, I mean," Peter asks, and Jason isn't really even all that hard or all that horny, just a little, but he can't say no.

"Sure. Should we just stay here?" Before now it's always been Jason's bed but since they're both already on Peter's, how awkward would it be to get up and cross the room? What would Peter think? Peter's eyes open slightly but he nods, and they both shift to their positions, facing away from each other, Jason's feet on the floor.

He hesitates before he sets his hand behind him, and it's not a second later that he feels Peter's hand, fingertips brushing against Jason's own hand. He isn't sure what to do with that, with how the both of them were just expecting their hands to fall together again, with how that isn't a big deal—or at least, if it is, they're acting like it isn't. He takes a breath and softly, nervously, loosens his pants, letting his eyes slide shut as he works on getting to the proper mood.

Behind him he can hear Peter doing the same, can feel Peter's thumb very slightly brushing against Jason's hand, and he shuts his eyes tighter, taking a deep breath to center himself. He thinks of everything he can—every porn he's seen, every time Peter's breath scratched against his skin—anything warm and teasing and intoxicating but he comes up short. All his mind can focus on is Peter's hand in his, the sheets scratching against his wrist, and the shut-away screaming of the question of what exactly this all means, buried deep inside his mind.

It's a few moments before Jason knows it's a futile effort; he can hear Peter's frustration behind him and finally he decides to end it, his arm filling slowly with the weight of the question he doesn't want to answer.

"Peter?" he breathes, the first time either of them has spoken to the other during something like this, and he hears Peter exhale quietly before he answers.

"Yeah?"

"I'm not really in the mood…" he apologizes.

There's silence, just a beat of it, but it's pressing and thick and Jason breathes it in, feels it prick at his lungs until he has to move, has to do something to chase it away. After a moment, he moves his fingers against Peter's, lightly stroking what he can of his skin.

He hears Peter's breath catch, followed by his voice, hushed and timid. "Me neither."

Zippers are zipped but they don't move, still sitting back-to-back with their hands together. There's silence again, that heavy, unforgiving silence that only makes Jason think of the forced silence of his mind. His eyes shut tight; he clears his thoughts as best he can, breathing steadily and easily.

It's the heat of Peter's body looming closer that pulls him out of his near meditation and drags a shaky breath along with it. The skin of his back prickles, a shiver shooting across his shoulders because he can sense Peter looming closer and closer until there's his back, resting lightly against Jason's. He could pull away but he doesn't; Jason leans into it until their bodies are touching, hair brushing, tickling.

This isn't the last thing that happens before they leave for the summer, but it's the only one Jason remembers—that is, the only one that haunts him, that ties itself around his thoughts and leaves Jason with an impossible knot to pick in an attempt to free himself for three months.


	4. Chapter 4

Jason's knee bounces as he sets up his computer, arranges cords, puts things in drawers mostly just so he can listen to the sound of them rolling open and shut, the sound of metal on wood filling the room with a comfortable level of noise. It's just enough to drown out Peter's breathing, even if underneath everything Jason's still able to hear that. He's been hearing it in his dreams all summer.

His bed is arranged, his clothes in his dresser, and he's running out of things to keep his hands busy. His knee is bouncing so much he has to stop it, his shoe sliding against the carpet until his shin taps against the side of his desk.

"There." Peter's voice is trying for normal; Jason doesn't need to hear anything more than one syllable to find the strain. "All finished."

Jason nods his head, a quick jerk and a smile that Peter can't even see because Jason is focused on his computer, on wires and ports. His eyes, though, stray to the monitor where Peter's shape is reflected in its grey-black screen. They linger there, his knee slowing to a stop, Peter sitting quietly on his own bed and flipping through a notebook. Quickly Jason flicks his monitor on, watching Peter disappear in the slowly brightening light of the screen.

"You got it working." Peter's effort is admirable, still hesitant and shy.

"Yeah." He glances over his shoulder, smiling briefly, intending to look away again, but he can't turn his head once his eyes settle on Peter. It might be the first time they've directly looked at each other since they arrived this afternoon, and Jason isn't sure whether or not he should be relieved that looking at Peter satisfies the itch he's been unable to reach all summer.

"You got a tan," Peter says finally, gently, less hesitant than before and with a smile grazing the corners of his mouth.

Jason gives a light shrug and a smile more confident than he feels. "Was outside playing basketball. Or at the pool."

Peter nods and Jason nods and there're smiles, small laughs as both drop their heads, breaking the stare. "Did you have a good summer, then?" Peter asks, turning his eyes back up to Jason. He feels it instead of seeing it, the brush of Peter's gaze.

"Yeah."

No—he dreamt of Peter, restless nights with the sheets tangling against his legs and in the morning he wasn't sure what he had seen in his dreams. It was Peter and everything was colored over in something dark, but beyond the rise and fall of Peter's breath there was nothing. Mostly, he was lonely. He doesn't look at Peter until after his answer and until after Peter has time to hear the insincerity of it in the pause.

"What about you?"

Peter shrugs and glances down at his hands, kicking his heel against his bed before finding Jason's eyes again. "Yeah, it was alright."

The steam runs out of their conversation but at least they had one; some of the tension is eased between them, now that they've proved they can still talk to each other, and Jason turns back to his computer, clicking idly through E-mail, listening to the stillness seep into the walls.

"Hey." Peter's voice is barely above a whisper and it's all Jason needs to get his stomach twisting in a knot. He knows what's next, can taste it in the air, in the hush of Peter's voice, and when he turns his head, there's a blush spilling across Peter's cheeks. He doesn't say anything more, just meets Jason's eye with an embarrassed smile, his fingers twisting in the sleeves of his shirt.

"Yeah," Jason nods quickly, smiling slightly back.

He can read the want in Peter's eyes, the need for that intimacy they created between them before the summer, and Jason flicks his monitor off as he stands. Peter crosses the room to Jason's bed; Jason sits on the opposite side, both of them assuming their positions with measured eagerness in their steps. Jason feels jumpy, his muscles twitching, already needing this to happen more than he thought he did a few seconds ago.

His hand goes to the bed, in the gap between their bodies, and he holds his breath until he feels Peter's palm against his own after the muffled sound of zipper against fabric. He can work his own zipper with one hand, though it would have been better with two but he may have been eager to feel Peter's hand—he doesn't want to think about that right now, just heat and breath and two bodies together caught up in the same spell of motion and feeling.

It doesn't take long for him to get worked up, to get caught up in the frenzy of blurred thought and jagged gasps, breathing heavily until his mouth falls open and he starts to pull at the air of the room with a faint smile tainting his lips. Peter's moans start around the same time, still quiet, but Jason can tell that they're a little louder than before, a little more pleading. He answers those with one of his own—raspy and a little forced, but he wants to. It doesn't matter why right now, not when sweat is beading his forehead and Peter's nails are digging into his wrist.

Jason's body twitches at the same time that Peter hunches forward and then their backs are touching, brushing together. With his mind a flurry of rhythm and his body indiscriminate to its desires, he presses his back firmly against Peter's. Peter's moan becomes a distant, muffled sound once Jason can feel Peter's warmth spreading across his shoulders, pulling him deeper and deeper into a dark, soundless chasm, like ether clouding his mind.

His head tilts back and their hair is brushing, both of them making soft sounds now from their throats, hips lifting off the bed, but always, always their shoulders stay locked together, and Peter's nails work hard at leaving marks against Jason's arm. He confuses the sound of his own jagged breathing with Peter's, his ears not really caring who's making which muted moan, until he feels Peter's orgasm ripple through his body. It travels into Jason, an electric current of heat and need and hunger and want, and his muscles go stiff, his back pressing tightly to Peter's until his hips stop twitching.

They stay together, Jason's shirt clinging to him slightly, his wrist throbbing tenderly from Peter's nails. Now his hand rests placidly on top of Jason's, their backs sticking together as both try to catch their breath. It's only after his mind unfogs that Jason can recognize that a line was crossed when their bodies touched. He can feel it in himself, and it feels like something he can't turn away from.

That doesn't mean he can't try.

"Jason," Peter murmurs breathily, and Jason pulls his hand away.

"I missed that this summer," he says instead with a small little laugh to make it sound casual. He brings the hand marked with the half-moons of Peter's nails to his face, rubbing it down over his eyes, trying to rub away his confusion.

"Jason, I—"

Jason stands up and leaves the warmth of Peter's back, rooting through his nightstand drawer for the box of tissues he just put in it. He retrieves one for himself and tosses the box across the bed to Peter, cleaning himself up as he crosses the room. The silence is barbed with Peter's hurt, and Jason pauses as he slips out of his shirt, reaching slowly for his hanger.

"Don't, Peter." He keeps his voice light, empty of meaning.

"But Jason," Peter protests, coming around the foot of Jason's bed, "I have to—"

"Just leave it be." When Jason turns around, his voice firm, his eyes unforgiving, he finds Peter looking small and scared, his hands hanging open at his sides, his mouth slightly parted in a desperate pout. Jason tries to ignore any uninvited impulses. "It is what it is, and that's nothing. It's nothing. It _means_ nothing. And there's nothing to talk about."

Peter doesn't look consoled, but his mouth closes, lips coming together in a trembling line. He holds Jason's steady gaze until he crumbles too much to keep it up, turning and getting ready for bed, slowly.

Jason shuffles out of his pants and climbs into his bed, facing Peter's side of the room only long enough to switch out the light. Hunched on his side, staring hard at the wall, Jason doesn't sleep for most of the night. He can't, not with that tortured expression on Peter's face haunting him—but more than the look, it's how Jason wanted to kiss it away.


	5. Chapter 5

They last a few days in a turbulent intermission, hovering between two acts, and Jason isn't sure he's ready for the rest of it. He never much liked the theater anyway. Peter finally snaps during the quiet that finds both of them on their beds, notebooks in their laps and textbooks open on the bedspread.

"Jason, I have to tell you something."

He doesn't look up, but his shoulders bristle. Peter's tone is scared and fragile and Jason's arms ache to wrap around him, to know what Peter feels like pressed against his chest instead of his back.

"I—I don't know what's wrong with me, but I—Jason, I—"

"Peter." Jason cuts him off with a low warning, gentle but with a hint of danger as he slowly tilts his head up, eyes catching Peter with tears welling in the corners of his eyes. "Don't do this."

Peter shakes his head firmly, opening his mouth to talk again. "Please, let me say this—"

A fist pounds on the door and it makes both boys jump. Jason's heart skips beats in his chest and he tries to catch his breath as Zach calls through the door.

"Hey, Jason! You're going to be late to practice."

"I'll be there in a minute." Jason gives Peter a meaningful glance, one full of finality, and he snaps his textbook shut.

He grabs his bag and leaves without a word or another look back at Peter, but whether or not he took that last glance, all he can see for the next few hours is Peter on his bed. All he can hear is his voice, shaky and timid. Jason's mind fills in the rest of the sentences that were left half-finished; he's distracted enough that the coach yells at him, makes him run drills after practice, but Jason's glad for the chance to burn off the energy. If he runs around the court enough he can run off that sick feeling clinging to the walls of his stomach, wrapping itself like a weight belt around his waist and tying him down until he has to face the question he's been struggling to keep locked away.

Every thump of the basketball against the court, every swish of the hoop, is another thud of his heart while his back was crammed against Peter's, another gasp of breath they pulled from the room together. His fingers touch against his wrist, against the already faded marks, and he thinks of the heat of intimacy, of sharing secrets and hunger and need with another person.

He takes a shower after practice, but he can't turn the water down; he has to leave it hot enough to boil his skin away—at least in his mind—until he can't feel anymore for the searing and it leaves his skin red, his body tingling. It does more than that though; it bakes his mind over, cooks it until he can barely understand his own thoughts.

Overheated, numb, burning—he shuffles back to their room and drops his bag just inside, letting the door shut behind him. Peter's still on his bed, his schoolwork still laid out in front of him but it doesn't seem to have been touched since Jason left. Jason's mind is still boiling, too much going on for him to understand it, and the overfull silence is comforting in its own way as he crosses the room blindly to his desk, standing and staring at his keyboard like the letters would form the answer for him.

How much time passes while he stands like that he can't tell; he can barely tell he's still breathing, and then Peter's voice is behind him, still tiny and hollow, almost lost in the heat of their room.

"Did practice run late?"

Jason lets his eyes slide shut, not turning around, but he doesn’t have to turn around because the tone of Peter’s voice tells him what he’ll see. Peter, looking small and desperate and lonely and hurt, needing to know if Jason’s avoiding him, needing to know where this is going, what all this means. Jason can almost feel Peter's hands curl into fists, can almost feel Peter's nails against his own palms. (He _can_ feel them against his wrist, and the spot with the leftover marks throbs almost pleasantly.)

"Jason?" His voice is wobbly, desperate, breaking, and Jason can see him without turning around, those tears in his eyes again, his lips trembling.

Steam is about to trickle from his skin; the hot water of the shower still seems to be coating his entire body even though he toweled off, and maybe his nerve endings are deadened by it and that's why he doesn't really notice at first that he's turned around, that he's facing Peter.

And then he's stepping forward, hand falling on Peter's arm, the other on his hip, and then he catches Peter's mouth with his own and their bodies are pressing together and their lips are parted and their breath mingles between them as he clings to Peter and Peter clings back.

If Jason had his way the kiss would never end because when it does he has to deal with it. His hands are now fisted in Peter's shirt and Peter's half-crumpled against Jason's body, arm wrapped tightly around his waist just so he can keep himself up. He whimpers and Jason doesn't know why but the sound compels him to kiss Peter again, not as hard as the first one, and not as long either.

"Oh my God, Jason," Peter breathes, tears in his tone, and he buries his face into Jason's shoulder. "Oh my God." Maybe he's praying, maybe that's why he can't say anything else. Jason isn't sure that's the right way to go but his thoughts are swirling around like disintegrating noodles in steaming broth.

"Can I—can we—" He wraps his arms around Peter in a tight embrace and tucks his face against Peter's neck. "I don't want to talk about this tonight. I just want to go to sleep with you." He can barely function, can't be expected to tear down his walls in one night, and so when Peter nods against his neck the relief that sweeps over him starts to cool him down from his shower.

"Yes—please, yes."

There's motion that isn't as important as the fact that Peter's over there, peeling his shirt off and hesitating before his pants join them, strewn across Peter's bed. The cool air barely registers against Jason's skin and the sheets are rough, grating to him as he slides under them. Peter fits snugly against him, their bodies crammed together in Jason's bed. He lets his lips brush against Peter's shoulder, inhaling his smell; Jason's arm is wrapped around Peter's side and he can feel breath stir the hairs of his arm.

He tries not to think about the morning or about how far away from sleep he feels; he doesn't think about how he's going to survive the night with Peter tucked against him. In the rise and fall of Peter's breath, he finds a warmed-over release strong enough to pull the knot in his mind loose, shake his thoughts free, and offer him a free-floating liberty in the taste of Peter's skin.


End file.
